


The Subject of Fear

by vogue91



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, Introspection, POV First Person, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 11:27:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13075911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vogue91/pseuds/vogue91
Summary: Voldemort was stealing life to whatever his hand touched, and the signs of that mute imprisonment could be seen in the eyes of people, shallow and lifeless, as if every reason to get up in the morning had being thrown to flames by fear itself.





	The Subject of Fear

The wind had changed.

When I was a kid, Petunia used to read to me Pamela Lyndon Traver’s book, Mary Poppins, and I had developed this insane desire for the wind to never change, because I was truly convinced that at its course changing, someone was bound to go away.

And that miserable sensation of change was still alive in me, almost fifteen years later.

I was on the doorstep, looking absorbed at the desolate view of Godric’s Hollow. There weren’t many people who still dared to come out of their houses, unless they had some pressing reason, and as a consequence of that the emptiness of the town was becoming more and more raging, as if it had turned into a ghost town.

And, after all, every corner of the England at that time was inhabited by nothing but ghosts, vain shadows that dragged themselves alongside the walls, trying to become invisible in the eyes of that monster.

Voldemort was stealing life to whatever his hand touched, and the signs of that mute imprisonment could be seen in the eyes of people, shallow and lifeless, as if every reason to get up in the morning had being thrown to flames by fear itself.

 

I went back inside, and I couldn’t help but sigh. I sat at the kitchen’s table, next to a James who looked more pensive as the days went by. I put my hand on his, trying to convey that heat that all of us seemed to have lost so long ago. He raised his eyes for a split second, laying them on mine, then went back to his lucubration, as if there was nothing to say between us.

“James...” I murmured, expressing in the simplicity of that name a disarming desperation, and I was sure he had understood that.

He smiled almost shyly at me, and he caressed my cheek softly.

“What’s wrong, Lily?” he asked, trying to dissimulate that anxiety that had long been a part of him. He hadn’t surrendered yet to the fact that we were a family, that willing or not I was a part of that anxiety, I was a part of any misfortune that was going to rain on us. And yet I couldn’t really blame him.

If I had been him, I would’ve tried too to protect him from reality, as if he were a child I should’ve taken care of, not the man that I had married, the man I loved.

In spite of everything, I smiled too.

“I was just wondering what you were thinking about, James. But it’s kind of a silly question, isn’t it?” he stared at me questioningly, and I rushed to explain. “What Dumbledore told us... we’re in danger, James, it’s pointless to deny it.” I told him, raising an eyebrow. My husband sighed, holding my hand tightly.

“I should be able to do something, Lily. To protect you, to protect Harry. Instead, what am I actually doing that could be useful? I hide inside this house like a caged animal, and I transfer the responsibility of our safety to others. Try and understand how I feel... it’s like I’m less of a man in this circumstance.” I tried to put a solemn look, still staring at him.

“You’re living proof of everything that can go wrong in a war. You don’t have to prove to be a man, James. Just to love so much as to go over prejudices and expectations, to put your pride aside and allow those who love you to help you.” I explained, grave. He couldn’t help but sigh again.

“Remus is right. It is you who wear the pants in this family.” I laughed, picturing the werewolf’s face while saying such a thing to James, and I made a mess of his hair, affectionate.

“Were you still doubting that?” I whispered, sweet. We both turned to look at Harry, who sat content on the floor playing, unaware of the danger looming over us.

We knew that little glimpse of family could’ve been one of the lasts before the coming of the catastrophe, and we silently decided not to let any sad thought to ruin what we had so strenuously fought for.

We still had the ability of being the Potters, and nobody was going to ruin that magical illusion surrounding the household.

At least, not yet.

 

~

 

“He’s coming.”

What scared me the most weren’t James’ words. I knew it was bound to happen sooner or later, that he would’ve found us one way or the other. I clenched my fists and cursed myself, for in those two miserable words barely whispered I had confirmation for all I’ve always thought: we all loved Peter, but there was something wrong with him.

And yet what left me almost astounded, what stole every certainties and hopes from me, was the tone James had used.

It was surrendered, defeated, as if whatever had happened that night, it would’ve meant the end of an era, the end of that happiness we had, the end of the world as we knew it.

Then I understood. It was _our_ ending my man was declaring his defeat to. He was ready to die, and to do so with his head held high as he had always wanted.

“Lily... if tonight...” he started, but I didn’t let him go further.

“No! No, James, I’m not letting you give any farewell speech. Not to me, not now. I just want you to tell me that everything’s gonna be alright, that we’re strong together, that we’ve fought to get everything we have today and nobody is going to be able to take it away from us. That’s all I need right now.” I yelled, ignoring the stabbing pain to my head. I took Harry and I brought him upstairs, as if another layer of tiles and concrete could save him. I turned, and hit the mirror behind my back, that fell and broke in a thousand pieces. In those microscopic fragments I saw the reflection of what was happening. I saw my face, divided, broken, scratched, hurt. I saw what was happening to us, and I saw those worthless pieces of glass that refused to reflect the surrounding reality. They couldn’t see any clarity around, and I didn’t feel like it either.

Into that broken mirror, hence, I saw that fleeing wasn’t necessary, that I didn’t need the excuses and the lies I was looking for. I just needed to find for one last time that part inside of me, the one which had always convinced me of my capabilities, and not just the one of surviving, but to face the end without regrets.

I collapsed on a chair. James sat in front of me, a hand on my shoulder. As I had done with him a few days back, now he was trying to give me that warmth, the one that was slowly fading from me because I wasn’t strong enough to keep it.

“I could tell you whatever you want, my love. But we both know that it wouldn’t be honest of me. I don’t deny we have hope, how many you desire, but... we’re at a point of no return, and I’d just like for us to face this night together, as if we had nothing to lose.” he said, sweet, like he was soothing a child.

He had taken on my duty, that of soothing, that of a mother. I was the one who spent her days treating him as if he was a second son, while in that moment I realized I wasn’t strong enough anymore to take care of all the three of us.

James was damn right, as much as it costed me to admit it.

We would’ve shared that battle, be it the last one or not, and we would’ve realized what was necessary the moment we had to.

No more plans, no more projects. It would’ve been like reading a page from a book, knowing that the next ones were still blank, that we were supposed to write them.

That night, each second would’ve been lived waiting for the next one, waiting what could’ve been our glory or our grave, but it didn’t matter.

We would’ve stood tall until the end, for Harry and for the both of us, for that alluring illusion we weren’t ready to give up.

I looked proud at my two children, in spite of the terror I still felt.

That night I realized how the subject of my desires and my fears was overlapping. It was them, Harry and James, with those playful eyes I was afraid to lose, which I would’ve want to guard forever.

But fate didn’t leave time to my thoughts.

A blast. A woman is screaming. A woman which could’ve been me, that soon _would’ve been_ me. James looked at me, then at Harry.

“Take him upstairs.” he said, bluntly. I took a deep breath and nodded, as if I was a soldier receiving an order and going to the foxhole, leaving an open field for her general.

Before I could go up, James stopped me, he held my arm tight, almost hurting me. I turned toward him, waiting for what I knew would’ve been his last words.

“Buildings burn, people die. But real love is forever.” he whispered, his voice broken, a voice that didn’t belong to him. I held him quickly in an embrace which tasted of a goodbye and I ran upstairs, holding Harry tightly to my chest. He was our only hope.

I put him in the cradle and I closed the window.

For a moment I was hit by the freezing October wind, which seemed as if wanting to take me away.

But I would’ve stayed in that house, in order to watch my last moments consuming in the hands of Voldemort, because I wasn’t going to escape.

Wind had changed, but it wasn’t I who was leaving.

 _He_ would’ve gone, and I just needed to look at Harry, into those eyes so similar to mine, to feel sure.

James’ last words were coming to life as I looked outside the window.

Fire. Death.

And I was about to give to those moments the love he wanted, the love that would’ve belonged to him forever.

I was ready to whisper my farewell to the night.


End file.
